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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24648514">the end (is saved for rainy days)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme'>plantyourtreeswithme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Heart Belongs to the Spokane Breeze [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gandrew - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, Quarantine, gandrew - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:00:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24648514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Their time in Spokane draws to a premature end. Andrew holds on for as long as he can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andrew Siwicki/Garrett Watts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Heart Belongs to the Spokane Breeze [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Gandrew Fans for BLM</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the end (is saved for rainy days)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybythewoods/gifts">lilybythewoods</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <b>This work was created for the <a href="https://cherryblossomwatts.tumblr.com/post/620286022186565632/gandrew-fans-for-blm">Gandrew Fans for BLM project</a> (in support of the Black Lives Matter movement), and written in exchange for a donation of $30.00 (USD) to <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/f/peoples-city-council-ticket-fund">the Peoples City Council Freedom Fund</a>.</b>
</p><p>This piece is by no means meant to be insensitive or an excuse for Garrett and Andrew's disappointing reaction to the current events in America pertaining to race. Rather, it is meant to be an escape for writers of the Gandrew fandom who have been at a loss during this time, and is in direct support of BLM and the black community.</p><p>Requested by @<a href="https://dugeonkeeper.tumblr.com">dugeonkeeper</a>: <i>it's ya girl 💜 so with those ~3k words? I wanna see just how fluffy and cute u can write them. make my gay heart s w o o n (definitely do less length if it fits the story, I trust u to handle that)</i></p><p>Thank you for your donation!! I will write to the ends of the earth for you. This was such a fun piece to put together, and I really enjoyed experimenting with the prose. Love you so much ❤️️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is dark and gray, and so unlike any of their other days, when Andrew's perfect world shatters and falls to pieces at his feet.</p><p>The sky breaks above his head as he leans against the trunk of his favorite tree. He flexes his toes, tickled by the grass, as the wind curls and rouses from its long slumber - lapping at his bare feet, at the wiry, reddish hairs on his leg. Thunder grumbles in the distance, moaning and gurgling its discontent.</p><p>("It's God expressing his anger at our sins," his mother used to say, when six-year-old Andrew was afraid and swathed in a heap of blankets atop his bed. He's always more preferred the imagery of angels going bowling, to be honest.)</p><p>He peers down at the spiral-bound, $5.00 notebook he's doted on since high school; runs his hands over the indents his handwriting's made through the lined pages. His letter to Garrett has not progressed since he last touched it. He's not quite sure how he expected it to grow on its own, without him even so much as lifting a finger (or a pen).</p><p>He wonders how Garrett's garden is doing, back home.</p><p>Minutes pass. The angels bowl another strike - but still, no rain. He closes his sheath of looseleaf paper, and ponders whether he should go inside or not.</p><p><em>Maybe I can wait it out,</em> he thinks. <em>Maybe the storm will pass, and I can make it back inside without getting wet.</em></p><p>Of course, the heavens choose that exact moment to part, and get Andrew absolutely drenched.</p><p><em>"Shit,"</em> he says, and gets clumsily to his feet. He rolls the notebook up, curving it like the bundled-up newspapers he used to deliver as a child - and shoves it into the inside pocket of his jacket.</p><p>Well.</p><p><em>Garrett's</em> jacket, but that's besides the point.</p><p>"Andrew?" he hears someone call through the downpour. When he walks around the tree, pushes through the weeping branches, it's to find Garrett himself standing in the clearing, a yellow umbrella clutched tight in his right hand. He's wearing boxers and a sleep shirt, and he must be freezing from the sudden chill that passes over them in the form of dark clouds. Andrew's chest feels very light at the sight of him, and aches in a painless sort of way.</p><p>"Garr," he says, stumbling over the roots of the willow to make his way towards him - but Garrett beats him to it. He strides forward with those giant, godlike legs of his, and Andrew really can't help it - he melts into Garrett's arms, hands pressing gently into his chest, and tilts his head up to kiss him.</p><p>Garrett lets the umbrella fall; Andrew knows this because the rain is suddenly cascading down their faces, and Garrett's thumb is soft at Andrew's cheek, the rest of his fingers cradling the nape of Andrew's neck. Garrett tastes like toothpaste and mouthwash, minty and green and pure - and Andrew's lips part with a gasp as Garrett slides his tongue between them.</p><p>He isn't sure how it ended up like this: how their languid touches and barest of glances evolved into... more. He knows that Garrett wouldn't have asked him to come here with him if they hadn't somehow, impossibly, become even closer in the past six months than they already were. He knows he hadn't been able to contain himself on their seventh day in Spokane, and he'd gone to Garrett in the backyard and kissed him, told him how much he cares for him; and that had been the tipping point.</p><p>He doesn't know exactly how it happened. But he does know that he's in love with his best friend.</p><p>So he leans into the kiss, and relishes how far down Garrett has to lean to properly embrace him.</p><p>When Garrett finally draws away, Andrew keeps his eyes closed for the smallest of moments. Something in his chest is gnawing at him, telling him it can't last - so he wants to savor this for as long as he can.</p><p>Raindrops cling to his eyelashes when he finally lifts them to gaze up at Garrett, whose face is so torn, it hurts to look at. Andrew can barely even open his mouth - so struck is he by untimely heartbreak - to say, "Garrett, what's wrong?"</p><p>He sighs, and Andrew reaches up to push his mussed, soaking hair out of his eyes, away from his forehead. He looks like his younger, college-student self, with his overgrown mane slicked back like this; Andrew's seen the pictures dotted all around his mother's home, hung up on the fridge and shoved hastily into picture frames, while the smell of gingerbread and the sound of Garrett's giggles wafted through the house.</p><p><em>Christmas with the Watts,</em> he thinks; <em>hope there's a lot more of those in my future.</em></p><p>"Shane left another voicemail," Garrett says dejectedly, pulling Andrew away from his thoughts. He retrieves the umbrella from the ground and draws Andrew up against his chest, so they're both protected from the rain (not that it makes much difference now - they're both thoroughly waterlogged).</p><p>"He called me?"</p><p>"No, he called <em>me</em>," Garrett tells him. "Told me he knew we had to be staying together, and that I'd better get you back home within a week. Or he'll fire you."</p><p>The rain patters softly against the glistening nylon shield of the umbrella, filling the silence that aches between them as Andrew tries to come up with something to say. He feels like he's falling apart; like a rock has been tossed through perfect stained glass, and his heart has been broken into a million little parts he won't ever be able to piece back together again.</p><p>"Are," he finally says. His throat feels raw and dry when he swallows, forces himself to start again. "Are you gonna stay here?"</p><p>"Andrew, honey, of <em>course</em> not," Garrett says. "I'll come with you, of course I will. We'll - I mean, the Airbnb's up in a few days -"</p><p>"I thought you were gonna renew it," Andrew says, surprised to find tears pricking at his eyes.</p><p>"Yeah, I mean, but if we're just gonna head back in a couple days, anyway..."</p><p>"I don't want to go back."</p><p>Garrett's face twists and contorts in a pained sort of way, and Andrew wants him to say more than anything that they can stay; that he'll protect him from Shane and everyone else back in L.A., and they can just stay in this little cottage for the rest of their lives.</p><p>But he doesn't. Instead, he opens his mouth and says, "Let's go back to the house," just as a flash of lightning streaks across the sky over their heads. Garrett's face is momentarily illuminated, and Andrew sees reflected in his lover's countenance the same fear and grief that he feels - that same regret, like they should've relished, held onto each moment as if it were their last.</p><p>The rain pours and pours and pours. The willow weeps. Andrew tugs Garrett close and cries into his shoulder.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He catches sight of himself in the mirror that hangs in the hallway by the front door: curls plastered against his scalp, and a halo of frizz like a wreath, brought on by the humidity; flickering at the periphery of his vision whenever he turns his head.</p><p><em>I look a man in love,</em> he thinks, and smiles to himself.</p><p>They check out of the Airbnb and drive to Marianne's house the next day. Andrew can't stop himself from staring out the window of the rental car at their retreat, disappearing behind them until it's nothing but a pinprick in the distance.</p><p>"We'll come back someday, Andrew," Garrett murmurs at the steering wheel. "I promise you, we will."</p><p>Andrew shifts in his seat and pretends he wasn't looking.</p><p>Flaxen-haired children come and greet them at their car, the soles of their bare feet slapping against the concrete. Andrew marvels at the heat that's already descended upon the northern state - he thought the morning would be cool and temperate, misty with the threat of frost upon the windshield. But the sun pours down and seeps in rivulets, pounding against the back of Andrew's neck and trickling into the cracks in the driveway.</p><p>He lets out a small, "Oof," as the kids careen into him, grabbing greedily at his hands and trying to pull him in opposite directions. Marianne laughs from the front porch - her hair wild and eyes crinkling as she chuckles - her whimsical voice so redolent of her brother, Andrew's heart soars at the sound.</p><p>"Hey, Marianne," he grins, arms full of golden, gibbering children.</p><p>"Hey, yourself," she says. She's wearing a pale pink dress that floats and dances 'round her ankles with the barest touch of breeze. Her arms are tan and weathered, as only a mother's can be, and crossed firmly across her chest. Her face is carefully done up, and her eyes - <em>Garrett's eyes</em> -  flash mischievously as she smiles at him. "Fun break?"</p><p>"Hell, yeah," he says, then places a hand over his mouth. "Oop - I mean, um, <em>heck</em>, yeah -"</p><p>"Oh, they don't mind," she scoffs, gesturing vaguely at the giggling kids now attached to Andrew's hips. "Hear worse from me all the time."</p><p>"Yeah, we know, Marianne," Garrett says, rolling his eyes dramatically as he steps out of the car. He is glorious and vibrant in the sun, wearing a t-shirt that's just the tiniest bit too tight at the shoulders, and shorts that show off his thighs and muscular calves. Andrew's eyes catch on the sheen of his long hair, and his breath hitches in his throat at the way it gleams in full sunlight.</p><p>He thinks he spies Marianne smirking at him, out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't get the chance to say anything when she suddenly calls to her brother: "You need a haircut."</p><p>"Andrew, don't let her anywhere near me," Garrett says, placing his hands over his face in a mock show of fear. "She'll ruin me, I just know it!"</p><p>"Bold of you to assume I won't just cut it myself, Garr," Andrew teases.</p><p>"You wouldn't!"</p><p>"While you're sleeping," he says, laughter bubbling in his chest - and then he stops at the implication, and glances nervously over at Garrett's sister. She raises a sparse, blonde eyebrow at him, but says nothing, opting instead to usher her kids back inside the house and holler over her shoulder:</p><p>"Breakfast's getting cold, boys!"</p><p>Garrett shuts the car door and walks over to Andrew, a devious smile playing across his features. "Close one, Siwicki," he says, his hands slinking around Andrew's waist and coming to rest at the small of his back.</p><p>"You haven't told her yet, have you?" Andrew asks. He reaches up to wrap his arms around Garrett's neck, and tries not to think about how the quavering of his voice instantly betrays his anxiety over the possibility of having to come out to Marianne and her family.</p><p>His unfairly-tall boyfriend presses a kiss to his cheek. "No, but I don't have to. Sisters always know."</p><p>"Garrett, I - she might be -"</p><p>"She knows I'm gay, Andrew," Garrett says, bringing him a little closer so he can feel the warmth of Garrett's heart against his chest. "She loves me for who I am. There's no way she'll 'reject' you."</p><p>"But she thinks I'm straight," Andrew objects. "Everyone still thinks I'm straight."</p><p>"Yeah," Garrett says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "And we'll prove them all wrong whenever you're ready."</p><p>Andrew breathes deep, and finally sighs. "You're sure?"</p><p>"'Course," his sweetheart instantly reassures him. "She wouldn't just - accept <em>me</em>, and not you. That's not how it works."</p><p>He takes Andrew's hand, and Andrew laughs. "Well, it sounds silly when you say it like that."</p><p>"Because it <em>is</em>," Garrett implores, and leads Andrew inside.</p><p>They spend the next three days at Marianne's. She is quick to stuff them with home-cooked meals, which Andrew finds something of a relief after two months of microwave meals and pizza rolls. Her husband is gracious and kind - asks Andrew how work's been going and actually cares to hear the answer. And the kids demand their constant attention, a distraction Andrew welcomes. He spends more time coloring and putting puzzles together with them than he does worrying about what's going to happen once he gets back to L.A., and it feels like a weight's been lifted from his shoulders.</p><p>Garrett quickly disappears into a little corner of the house, clicking away on his laptop and fielding a few phone calls in the backyard. Andrew knows he's talking to his boss, pleading with him to let them stay in Washington a little longer - because each time, he goes and stands by the sliding glass door and peeks his head out, listening for just a moment. The tense strain of his voice tells Andrew that it has to be Shane, because no one else stresses Garrett out this much to speak to.</p><p>"Let me talk to him?" Andrew begs, as they get ready for bed on the second night. The guest bathroom is small and cramped - definitely too small for two full-grown men to share - but neither of them seem to mind.</p><p>"There's nothing to say, honey," Garrett mumbles around his toothbrush, as articulately as he can muster. "Our flight's morning after next."</p><p>Andrew spends the next day struggling his way through his letter. He gets maybe twenty words out - <em>words can't describe how much I've treasured our time here - I will never forget how I realized I want to spend the rest of my life with you here - I'll never be able to express how in love with you I am</em> - before giving up and going to help Marianne make lunch.</p><p>"So," she prefaces as they're chopping up vegetables for some homemade stew. Andrew immediately feels butterflies flutter nervously at the bottom of his stomach. "You and my brother, huh?"</p><p>"Um," he says, and nearly cuts his finger off.</p><p>"Can't say I didn't see it coming," she continues. "He's been talking my ear off about you for years, you know."</p><p>"Oh," Andrew manages. "He has?"</p><p>"Mmhmm. I think you guys are pretty cute," she says, like it's nothing, "but maybe I'm biased."</p><p>"Um. Thank you."</p><p>"Haven't told your folks back home, yet, have you?"</p><p>"No," he says, finally remembering how to breathe again. "Gonna, um. Wait a bit. It's still pretty new."</p><p>"Well, sure, but" - she nudges past him, and scrapes the contents of her cutting board off into the pot on the stove - "you're in it for the long haul, aren't you?"</p><p>He splutters and flushes bright red as she grins from ear to ear.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Garrett runs a hand through his hair as they stand in line at the terminal, and catches Andrew giggling at him. "What?" he says, and smiles broadly despite pretending to be upset at Andrew's laughter.</p><p>"Just thinking about when she cut it for you," he says, snickering despite himself. "And how much you hated it, but had to pretend you liked it because you were filming."</p><p>"Yeah, I remember," Garrett says. "I <em>especially</em> remember how bad you were at not laughing -"</p><p>"I did my best! It's not my fault I laugh at fucking <em>everything</em> you do, Garr!"</p><p>"I had to cut the funniest parts because you were laughing so hard!"</p><p>"Not my fault I like you so much," Andrew hums contentedly.</p><p>Five hours later, and they're standing at LAX baggage claim, both of their moods sobered and dull. The late May sun blooms bright on Andrew's cheeks when they finally collect their bags and step outside, picking their way towards Garrett's car as slowly as they can.</p><p>The ride back to Garrett's house is quiet, save for the soft piano piece on the radio that Andrew thinks he recognizes, but isn't sure where from. He bounces his phone against his leg, nervously counting the seconds he has left with Garrett before they have to return to real life again.</p><p>"You okay?" Garrett asks quietly. His knuckles are white against the wheel, anchored at 10 and 2 like it's all he has left to hold onto.</p><p>"Yeah," Andrew says, and takes up his phone. Opens his messages, taps out a text: <em><strong>"Give me two more weeks. We aren't working on anything now anyway. I can do whatever editing you want from home."</strong></em></p><p>Waits anxiously for the reply.</p><p>Too soon, they're turning into the neighborhood, parking behind Andrew's car across the street from Garrett's tiny place of residence. Andrew hates how much it reminds him of their cottage now.</p><p>The sky has softened, now cool and gray. It's 1:00 PM, and their shadows run faint blue, indistinct along the misty asphalt as they walk up to the gate, luggage in tow. Garrett looks over at him, his steely eyes an echo of the brooding ether above them. Andrew reads bitterness and resentment - a stinging sadness on his face.</p><p>"Aren't you going home?" he asks, his fingers twisting worriedly at the handle of his suitcase. Andrew stops in the middle of the empty road.</p><p>L.A. sidestreets are never this silent, this hushed, but the division is utterly still. Garrett pauses, too, his grip on their luggage still too tight. Andrew's backpack is slung over his shoulder - he'd offered to carry it while they were getting off the plane, since it was closer to him in the overhead compartment, and Andrew was busy trying desperately to hide his tears.</p><p>He looks at Andrew with uncertainty in his eyes; like he thinks Andrew <em>wants</em> to go back to his lonely little apartment, sit in the dark and wait for Shane to demand he come over to film stupid, pointless videos.</p><p>Andrew swallows. Fog pools at his ankles, soaks slightly through the fabric of his tracksuit.</p><p>"I talked to Shane," he starts, and falters. "He said - he said he'll give me two weeks to settle in. Now that I'm back.</p><p>"Let me stay with you," he says - and barely even manages to get the words out before Garrett rushes forward and says:</p><p>"I love you."</p><p>His mouth is firm and soft against Andrew's - and he's so shocked by the proclamation, he instantly lets his lips part, lets Garrett's plane-tired, water-cooled breath slide between them. He finds himself counting, letting three seconds pass before he kisses him back, his hands fisting into Garrett's hair as they embrace.</p><p>"I love you," he says, finally pulling away and gasping for breath. It hasn't even been two months, but he's known for too long a time already. "I love you, I'm in love with you -"</p><p>"I know," Garrett smiles, panting slightly, his forehead pressing into Andrew's own.</p><p>His letter to Garrett is feather-light, unfinished in his jacket pocket, but he thinks he'll save it for a rainy day - when he is old and gray, missing their Spokane home, and can finally come up with a way to tell Garrett just how much he loves him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Gandrew_Fans_for_BLM/profile">Please click here if you would like to commission a fic for BLM!</a> (We <i>are</i> accepting non-monetary forms of donation!) You can leave requests in <a href="https://cherryblossomwatts.tumblr.com/ask">my inbox</a> or in the comments below. If you’d like, you can request one of my current multi-chapter stories to be continued, or send me a prompt for an entirely new fic! If you wish to remain anonymous, you may email proof of donation to gandrewfansforblm@gmail.com.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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